ROB

 

I TRIED TO RING Harry that evening but he didn't answer. I gave it ten minutes before trying again. I wasn't worried at that point, leaving him a message asking him to call me back with any news.

When he still hadn't rung an hour later, I tried texting him but there was still no answer.

I thought about what he might be up to, whether to keep trying or leave him to it. I flicked to the local news page, feeling a growing sense of dread.

It was the top story, surrounded by complaints about the hairdresser changing its name and some kids who’d been pulling up flowers by the river. The body of a male in his fifties had been found in a guesthouse bedroom, suicide by hanging was the rumoured cause of death.

It was Harry. It had to be Harry. I was still reading the article when a text came through.

 

I want to talk to you.

 

I frowned at the message. It was from an unknown number.

 

Who is this?

 

I hit send and waited. There was no point playing games, I just wanted to know who I was dealing with.

 

Hope’s father. I think we need to have a bit of a chat.

 

The phone started to ring. I didn't answer.

It was strange. I didn't feel fear. Not at that moment. The fear came later. At that moment, I felt a cold calm descending on me. I had a job to do. The emotions could come out later. It was like a question and answer session in my head.

Harry's dead. Do you want to die as well?

No.

So what do you need to do?

Get out of here.

Anything else?

Get the case and get Hope.

Then do it.

I went to the tiny bedroom on the third floor where it was hidden behind the bookcase. Once I'd retrieved it, I found Hope in her room, looking completely at peace, reading quietly, her legs tucked under her in the armchair.

"We need to go," I said, hating the fact that I was having to destroy her peace.

She didn't ask questions. She just grabbed her shoes and followed me downstairs. I kept calm as we climbed into the car, more questions running through my head.

Should you call the police?

They'll find us first.

How do you know?

Because Harry knows...knew his stuff.

Where are you going?

Somewhere safe.

Is it not safe at home?

Not if they worked out who I am.

How would they do that?

By looking at Harry's phone, tracing the number.

Where are you going to go?

A second later, Hope asked the same question. "Where are we going?"

"I've got a place," I said, changing gear as I went into a bend. "It's secret. No one knows about it. We'll stay there for now, work out what to do next."

"Something happened to Harry, didn't it?"

I nodded, the first flash of emotion hitting me. Harry was dead. I stamped the feeling down. Deal with it later.

"Is he...dead?"

I nodded again.

"Oh, Rob, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's my fault. I should have listened to you."

"You didn't know what they were capable of, that's not your fault."

"But you tried to warn me," I said, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. "I should have listened to you."

She fell silent, staring out of the front window. I concentrated on driving, getting us there in a couple of hours.

The place I was taking us to was a little cottage in the middle of a forest. I'd bought it many years earlier, using it whenever I needed to get away from work. There was a single landline phone, slow internet, no mobile signal. It was perfect for escaping the frenetic life for a few days. I'd never told anyone about it so whoever was looking for Hope would never find it.

My phone beeped in my pocket and I dug it out, passing it to Hope. "Read that to me," I said.

"We just want to talk to you, Mr Davies. That's all."

"Does it say anything else?"

"That's it."

"We're almost there," I replied, turning off the main road onto a tiny little rutted lane. I slowed the car engine to a halt, leaving it running while I took the phone from her and rang Anthony. "Anthony, Rob. I need you to look after things for a while."

"Why, where are you?"

As I went to answer, the phone vibrated in my hand. I looked down at the screen to see another message appear.

 

Tomorrow, three p.m. The house where you took her from us. Be there.

 

Anthony was still talking but I had to work hard to tune back in. "Just don't talk to anyone about me, all right?" I snapped, interrupting him.

"What's going on, Rob?" he asked. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" I could hear someone knocking on his door in the background.

"Nothing I can't handle. Look, you’re busy and I've got to go. I'll be in touch, all right?"

I'd always been in control in my life. But this was a gamble. I had no idea what I was going to do. I needed time to think. I stopped by the cottage, leaving Hope in the lounge whilst I headed into the adjoining garage. There was a punchbag set up in the corner and I began taking my frustration out on it, hoping to clear my mind enough to think about what I was going to do next.

I had to deal with them. They were clearly dangerous. No doubt they'd soon be on their way to the mansion. What would they do when they found out I wasn't there? Go to work on Potter? I made a mental note to ring and warn him but I was confident he could handle himself, that was why I'd hired him in the first place. He was the one who procured me the case and its contents.

They'd go to work, try and act subtle, maybe pretend to be the police, wanting to talk to me, might even make up an accusation, need to know my whereabouts. But nobody would be able to give them any information. Not even Annie knew about the cottage.

I threw one punch after another, thinking about Harry, about Hope, about them. I didn't even hear her coming into the garage behind me until she spoke, her voice making me jolt upright in surprise.